Aftermath
by kiriutar
Summary: Matthew's Halloween parties are to die for! Alfred knows that all too well, and lends a hand. Literally. Hinted CanAme; Rated for excessive gore


Matthew waved as the teens and kids dispersed, many of them calling out well-wishes for the evening and rapidly approaching day. He smiled in particular to a shy, little, blue-eyed blonde in a superhero costume, and his heart gave a lurch as the boy waved, clutching to his big brother's pants leg. Matthew closed the door and turned off the porch lights. He turned to survey what was left of his house.

He had gone completely over-the-top for this year's All Hallows' Eve. The kitchen was spattered with gore as if someone had been violently butchering something on the counter - - - the gouges in the countertop and the fingers in the sink made the notion all the more believable. He picked out the props from the watered-down red puddle in the basin and set them in the bowl of candy he still held. He hummed to himself as he wandered into the living room and picked up the pair of legs from their resting place under the sign next to the back door. He smiled and congratulated himself on the new touch: "REMOVE YOUR SHOES OR THERE WILL BE CONSIQUENCES!" One of the girls that had been dragged into "Mr. Williams's Haunted House Party" had shrieked when she stepped into the red puddle surrounding the still-worn combat boots. Matthew chuckled at the thought.

A moan from upstairs reminded him of his task.

Matthew called up the stairwell, "Are you waking up, Alfred? You gave the kids quite a scare this year."

No sound was returned, so Matthew continued on his rounds. In the downstairs washroom, he retrieved the forearm that had been artistically tied to the shower-pull. One of the boys had actually dipped his hand into the "acid-bath" on a dare - - - but Matthew had possessed enough foresight to have neutralized the acid before opening the door of his home to sugar-high, baked, and drunk older teens. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he had to give the older visitors - - - 19 and up, he checked their IDs to be certain - - - some of the maple vodka he had. He supposed it was only fair as he had opened the door with a martini in his hand. Many of the party-goers had complimented him on the sky-blue eye that rolled in his glass. It made his stomach churn with pride: his youth were full of souls that were akin to his own as opposed to the pompousness of the young adults his brother and fellow nations had in their care.

"Ridiculous," Matthew muttered to himself. "They're all morons, raising hypocritical children in their own hypocritical footsteps." He shifted the various limbs he had recovered in his arms and he ascended the stairs. Candy wrappers littered the floor and blood smeared the walls; spider webbing and dust coated the pictures that had not been knocked askew. He nearly slipped in a puddle at the top of the stairs and he laughed at his brief moment of panic.

"M-matt . . . ?"

Matthew perked up and hurried into the bedroom.

"I was beginning to think I had clocked you too hard, little brother," he tittered. "You gave all _les petit enfants_ so much of a fright - - - I don't know what got into me!" Matthew giggled as he set his armful upon the splotchy, blood-stained white and red patriotic comforter on his bed. He set his hands on his hips, the perfect likeness of his Papa's Revolution; blood stained his white shirt and blue pants, and dried in patches in his fair, softly curling hair.

His legs had been lopped off below the knee. One of his arms was gone at the elbow; the other hand was missing every finger. His belly was open and his innards were on display, his intestines in coils under his body. One of his eyes had been messily torn from its socket. And his body was bound up in barbed wire and suspended from the ceiling. Alfred looked a little worse for wear.

"M-m-mattie . . . n-n . . . n-no hock . . . n-no hock-"

"Shh," Matthew cooed. He pressed up close to the trembling body of his little brother and held one of his fingertips to the quivering fullness of the bitten, torn lower lip. "I won't get the hockey stick again. I promise." The kiss he gave would have been sweet if Matthew's teeth had not decided to dig into Alfred's mouth, nearly biting the flesh clean off. The Canadian smiled up at the listless blue eye and went back to the bed. He licked at his bloodied mouth and picked up the martini glass that still held Alfred's other eye.

With a skip in his step, Matthew bounced over to his brother with the eye in his hand. He dug his fingertips into the empty socket to pry loose the large clot of blood, and then he fed the nerves and muscles of the eye into the hole before he popped the organ into its proper place.

Alfred groaned in vague awareness of his being in pain.

"Blink a couple times and give it a twitch," Matthew instructed.

The American lifted his head and opened his eyes, the newly replaced left one slowly sagging down, unattached to the tissue surrounding it.

Matthew shrugged: "It'll fix itself in a few days. The children loved the party." The affection and sweetness in his voice was nearly sickening. His violet eyes sparkled, "There was a little boy, Freddy-Teddy. He was dressed up as Captain America. He was so sweet and shy and quiet~! I wonder what he would have said if I told him who you were, eh . . . ?"

He sashayed to the foot of the bed. "I hope I can finish fixing you up by midnight," Matthew said, a childish lilt twisting his tone into a sing-song. "Tomorrow's All Saints' Day, baby brother~! Don't tell me you forgot, again~!"

Alfred whimpered softly, the pain numbing his brain. "Ssss . . . s-s-sor-r-rr . . ."

"Oh, hush, Freddy-Teddy," Matthew admonished. He leaned down and began coiling the many meters of his brother's intestines back into the abdominal cavity. He hummed softly as he worked. Then, "We need to be ready to go by one o'clock. Church is at two." He smiled up at his Alfred, "Although, I suppose I should just let you sleep. That's what a good big brother would do~! Even if it means not going to church on a holy day." Matthew kissed Alfred's cheek and the other man turned his head slightly to accept it. "We have to be on our absolute _best_ behavior, okay? Papa and Daddy raised good little boys remember?"

Alfred groaned softly and let his eyes drift closed. If he was lucky, Matt would give him enough painkillers to completely erase this from his memory. Then again, he still would have to plan for next year's Halloween. Oh, well - - - his elder brother put up with his own psychotic tendencies. Turnabout is fair play.


End file.
